Jayson Bend: Queen and Country

Yay! Yay!

- Rohan! Rohan!

- This is anarchy!

Yeah!

It was a stray bomb.

Thank you, Adolf.

It was 1952, nine years later.

I was waiting to be called up to serve

two years' conscription in the Army.

I was 18.

I hoped they'd forgotten me.

After all, we were easy to miss.

We lived on an island in the River Thames.

You had to ring a bell to reach us.

I swam each morning at the same hour

because a lovely girl

rode past on the tow path.

I promised myself that one day

I would swim across and meet her.

But I never did.

Cut, cut!

Get him out of there.

Dry him off.

Go again.

Feeble, feeble.

Dry him off.

- Cut.

- End board.

Cut.

Get him out.

They did it over and over

until they got it right.

That seemed much better than fife.

Where you only got one go.

That'll do.

Print it. That's a wrap.

We lived near the famous

Shepperton Film Studios.

Billy!

I thought

they'd forgotten you, Billy.

It's come.

They'll have their work cut out,

making a soldier of you, pipsqueak.

We're locked in.

It's only for two years.

Hands out of your pockets!

Get in three ranks!

Get in step!

Left, right! Left, right!

Left right! Left right!

Left, right! Left, right!

- Percy Hapgood.

- Bill Rohan.

And Percy, this could be

the beginning of a...

a beautiful f***ing friendship.

- Claude Rains?

- Humphrey Bogart.

Casablanca.

Big head, come here.

You stand there.

Come round.

Move.

Move.

Get on the end.

On the end.

Come here now.

Get in. Get in. Stand still.

Right, put your berets on straight.

Right, your berets, the cap badges

need to be above the left eye.

What a pitiful bunch.

Turn!

- Left, two, three, one!

- Right, two, three, one!

Jesus!

What a rabble!

Put your right arm up now.

Your right arm.

You, big head, get on the end.

Swap over with the ginger one.

Swap over.

Put your arm up.

Arm's distance from the man on your right.

Put it up now. Put it up!

Look over your shoulder there.

Look over at the man next to you.

Stand to attention!

Slope arms!

Present arms!

Shoulder arms!

Order arms!

Stand still!

About turn!

Shh.

Out of the way!

- Stand still!

- What a bunch of wankers!

You've got six weeks to shape up,

then off to Korea

to fight the might of the Red Army.

You lot against the Chinese.

Shut up!

- Go back to sleep, you arsehole.

- Put a sock in it.

F***ing hell.

F*** you.

Jane Russell.

She was in my bed last night.

I said, "Get out.

Too narrow for the two of us."

Then she jumped into bed with me

and woke me up.

Left, right!

Left, right!

Left, right! Left!

About turn!

Left, right! Left, forward!

About turn!

Left, right! Left, forward!

Left, right! Left, right!

Left, right! Left, right!

Left, right! Left!

About turn!

Left, right! Left, forward!

When we go! It right,

it was exhilarating.

We were like a dance troupe.

Except Percy, who thought it was...

Sh*t.

Eyes right!

Eyes front!

Oh!

Bastard! I've had enough.

As soon as he's taught me how to do it,

I'm gonna kill him.

"Murder is my favourite crime."

- Who's that? Edward G Robinson?

- No, Clifton Webb.

Elbow. Elbow. Elbow.

When we finished the commando course,

Percy and I expected to be sent to Korea,

or to teach others how to kill.

But no, they made us Sergeant Instructors

and we had to teach them how to type.

A-R-M-Y!

Space!

Return carriage.

You are slouching and slovenly!

Sit to attention!

You will type at attention!

Resume typing at the slouch.

The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.

The, T-H-E, space...

quick, Q-U-I-C-K, space...

brown, B-R-OW-N, space...

fox, F-O-X, space.

Return carriage.

Do you know why you're here?

Yes?

Because you are the dregs.

Because you can't shoot and you can't march.

We get the dregs.

Well, your arses

will be glued to these seats

until you can touch-type like girls!

Your, Y-O-U-R, space...

arses, A-R-S-E-S, space,

will, W-I-L-L, space,

be, B-E, space,

glued, G-L-U-E...

What's your name, soldier?

Private Kitto, Sarge.

And why are you typing gibberish?

There's no point.

You'll see the point

if I put you on jankers.

It's all over, everything.

Ah. Armageddon. Atomic war.

- It's inevitable.

- I agree.

But while we're waiting,

learn to f***ing type.

T-O-U-C-H, type, T-Y-P-E, space,

like, L-I-K-E,

girls, G-I-R-L-S!

Return carriage!

Oh, bother. Sergeant?

I think I made a mistake.

Okay, Henderson.

You're the clown of the class.

There's always one and it always ends badly.

Just trying to type like a girl,

like you said, Sarge.

And be proud.

Remember, if a pen

is mightier than the sword,

well, a typewriter can be

more terrible than a tank.

You will conduct

the instruction of these soldiers

according to the manual

and properly dressed, Sergeant Rohan.

Your top button is undone.

You will be arraigned

before the company commander.

What, for a button?

Yes, for a button!

For the want of a nail, a kingdom was lost.

Discipline. Wars are won and lost...

on buttons, sir?

Insolence will be appended to that charge.

Private Redmond, I instructed you

to remove these boxes.

Will you explain why they are still

present and cluttering up the office?

And you do not salute an NCO,

Private Redmond.

Out of respect to you,

Sergeant Major Bradley.

Spontaneous, like.

The boxes.

Excused lifting. Hernia.

I have a chitty from the doc.

Those boxes are empty, Redmond.

Empty.

It's not the weight, Sergeant Major.

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